


dolorem et malum

by grungerofgotham



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Explicit Sexual Content, Eye-aligned Gerry, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Angst, Other, Paramedic Michael Shelley, Pining, Trans Character, Trans Gerard Keay, Trans man Gerry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:07:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23427478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grungerofgotham/pseuds/grungerofgotham
Summary: Gerry lives a dangerous life. Michael is there to patch him up (it's his job).
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 21
Kudos: 140





	dolorem et malum

**Author's Note:**

> Michael might be a little OOC, but let’s chalk that up to the fact that he’s not in danger of being sacrificed on the daily. Disclaimer; I don’t know how breweries work.

Gerry can’t see straight. There’s all this light and noise. He doesn’t think it’s coming from outside of his own head, but there’s no real way to tell. He fumbles for the door of the warehouse- that’s where he is, right? - the rusted handle digs into his hand. He thinks he might feel it cut into him, blood oozing down his wrist as he finally makes it into the cool night air, but everything is so blurred together and strange. He feels like he’s been drinking for days, or weeks, or maybe he’s been mixing weed and alcohol again. All he knows for sure is that there is something that might be concrete beneath him; so he must be on the pavement.

Now he’s somewhere else. There’s movement; a slight rocking from side to side, and everything is so bright. There are voices, low, rushed and fuzzy. He thinks there might be people beside him. The lights- that’s what they are, lights- they burn into his retinas but at least Gerry knows he can see again. There _is_ someone beside him, brighter even than everything else, gold like Gerry thinks heaven should be. They’re talking. To him? To someone else? He doesn’t know. Gerry thinks blearily that maybe there are good powers. Powers of light and love. This must be one of them, an avatar of Light. He can’t be sure, though, because Gerry isn’t there anymore.

*

Gerry wakes in a hospital bed. He’s still got most of his own clothes, so he probably hasn’t been injured too badly. His right hand is bandaged though. He tries to clench it, and feels stitches pull taut at the skin beneath. What did he do to it? Gerry tries hard to remember, visions dancing vaguely in his mind’s eye. The brewery. The door handle had been rusty and sharp. A book. _Right,_ he thinks, _I was doing something dangerous and Leitner related._

A nurse bustles into his room and startles to find Gerry’s eyes open and watching. “Oh! You’re… awake,” she says, holding a fluttering hand to her chest. “We weren’t expecting you for another hour or two.”

Gerry almost laughs at the way she puts it- like he’s visiting from somewhere else. He supposes he is. “Why am I here?” he asks.

“Alcohol poisoning,” she says. “And… something else. It appeared you were suffering symptoms of multiple different drug overdoses, but we couldn’t find anything but alcohol in your system.”

“Oh. Yeah, I don’t do… drugs,” Gerry says, still trying to piece together what had happened.

The nurse looks a little sceptical. “Well, all we can really do is advise you to stay away from the bottle, it doesn’t look like you tolerate it very well,” she explains with a good-natured laugh.

Gerry sighs and gives her an awkward smile in return.

They let him out within the next two hours, releasing him with strict instructions not to drink in the next day or two, or at all, preferably. Gerry had stifled a laugh when they said this, faking a cough instead, and thanked them before heading out into the bright light of almost-afternoon.

Gerry finds himself leaning against a wall outside the hospital, head pounding and not quite ready to sit in a moving vehicle. He lights up and tries to enjoy a cigarette while watching as a few paramedics wheel a man on a gurney into the hospital. One of them stays with the ambulance, busying himself with something in the back where the man had been pulled from.

He looks up at Gerry and regards him with an odd look. Gerry looks back. The man is well above 6 feet tall, with curly blond hair pulled back into a bun. He has a gentle look about him, and despite his broad shoulders, his frame is clearly quite slim, even under the bulky high-vis jacket and dull, ill-fitting green overalls. Gerry doesn’t like how familiar he is; familiar to Gerry usually means dangerous.

Gerry is just about sick of this guy staring at him. He pushes away from the wall and stalks over to tell him to mind his own business. “Do we have a problem?” he growls, not bothering to veil the threat in his voice.

The man smiles at him, and it’s not mean, but Gerry feels distinctly like his threat hasn’t registered, and that the EMT finds what Gerry said _amusing_. “Not at all,” the man replies. “I’m just surprised they let you out so early; you were quite… intoxicated last night. Or this morning, I should say.”

 _Oh; it’s the avatar of Light,_ Gerry finds himself thinking, and relaxes. He gives the man a proper look over. He’s about Gerry’s age, and really actually kind of really hot, he realises. The gap between his front teeth is endearing as fuck, and his soft grey eyes make Gerry want to be seen. Oh, he really shouldn’t be thinking like this.

“Wanna grab a drink later?” Gerry says. He takes a drag of his cigarette to hide the surprise he feels at his own words.

The man looks incredulous, though the amusement on his face doesn’t fade. “We,” he starts, plucking Gerry’s cigarette from his lips, “Just brought you in for a massive drug overdose and alcohol poisoning.” He takes a pull from the cigarette, then crushes it beneath his boot. He blows the smoke out above Gerry’s head, so Gerry is forced to stare at the long, pale column of his throat.

Gerry blinks, impressed at the nerve of the man, “Is that what you thought it was?”

The man frowns at this, significantly less jovial, “You think I don’t know what an overdose looks like?”

Gerry softens his approach, feeling bad for undermining the man, “If you let me buy you a drink, I’ll explain.”

The man scoffs, smiling bashfully, and runs his gaze slowly over Gerry. He looks Gerry in the eye for a long moment, and Gerry is just about to say something else, when he digs something out of his jacket pocket, a bit of card and a pen. He scribbles on it then hands it to Gerry.

It’s a business card, for London Ambulance Service, with a number scrawled on the back. “Why do you have business cards on you?”

The man shrugs, that smile still on his face. He opens his mouth but a stern-faced woman cuts him off as she and two others wearing the same uniform emerge from the building, “Stop flirting, you, we got another call.”

The blond winks and climbs into the back of the truck. “Call me,” he says, before slamming the doors closed, ambulance speeding away, lights swinging.

“God, he’s hot,” Gerry mutters and digs another cigarette out of his pocket.

*

Gerry whittles a few hours away in front of the telly, rather too exhausted to track down any more Leitners. When it gets to about noon, he rationalises his eagerness to call the blond by telling himself he’s just bored, and that it’s been long enough that he might be off work now, and able to take a call. He dials the number on the back of the card and waits three rings before the call is picked up.

“Hello?” comes the voice of the EMT.

“Hi, uh, it’s me,” Gerry says, suddenly feeling very awkward about the situation, without the man’s cloudy eyes to distract him.

“Oh. You,” comes the reply, sounding falsely disappointed. Well, Gerry hopes it’s false.

“Expecting someone else?” Gerry says.

“Hmm, yes, I was hoping for a rather buff goth I met earlier today. It was quite the meet-cute; I found him unconscious outside of a brewery in east London, almost dead from excessive alcohol consumption.”

Gerry breathes a silent sigh of relief, “Well, uh, you’re in luck, ‘cos this is him.” Gerry cringes at himself again; why is he so fucking awkward?

“Oh, good!” the man says, “What do you want?”

Gerry blushes, despite being alone in his apartment, “How about that drink?”

The man laughs, and fuck if it isn’t the most beautiful sound Gerry has ever heard. It’s bright and lilting, and makes Gerry feel light, like if he listened to it for too long, he might start floating. “I don’t think you should be drinking so soon.”

“I told you, it isn’t what you think,” Gerry says.

He hums, a considering sound. Gerry waits with bated breath. “Meet me tomorrow night at 8. Dan’s on the corner, do you know it?”

“Yes!” Gerry says. God, that was way too keen.

He’s met with a giggle that makes Gerry smile despite himself. “Well, okay then.”

“Alright,” Gerry says, and is about to hang up when he hears a quick ‘wait!’ from the other end. “Yeah?”

“What’s your name?” the man asks softly, tone shaded with embarrassment.

“Gerry. Yours?”

“Michael,” he says.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Michael,” Gerry says.

The call ends, and Gerry puts his head in his hands, trying to scrub the smile off his face.

*

Gerry postpones all of his Leitner-related activities for the next two days, buzzing with anticipation for the night. He knows this probably isn’t a date; he knows it, but at the very least it’s romantically _intended_. Or maybe just sexually, Gerry isn’t sure. Either way, he’s so ready to go to that pub that he doesn’t know what to do with himself until the 8th hour rolls around.

He hunts through his closet to find his least stained leather jacket. He debates whether or not to wear his mesh shirt, and ultimately decides against it. It’s been a while since Gerry’s been on anything even approaching a date. He thinks the last one may have been before he even started transitioning. Gerry sweats with nerves pinning his trans pin to the lapel of his jacket.

By the time it’s 8 o’clock, Gerry has showered twice, and spent at least 3 hours fitfully trying to watch Netflix. He wonders as he heads over, if his make-up is smudged just right. It’s safe to say that he is thoroughly nervous.

Gerry finds Michael easily; he may be sitting on a stool at the bar, but he’s still a head taller than most people, and definitely prettier than anyone else in there. He’s wearing a cropped sweater and blue jeans. Gerry’s glad the lights aren’t bright enough to show off his light blush.

“Hey,” Gerry says.

Michael turns to him and smiles, “Hi.”

Gerry enjoys Michael looking him over for a few moments, before remembering the pin he’d stuck to his jacket. He’s sees Michael’s eyes find it, and his breath catches in his throat, feeling his deodorant not do a damn thing to hide how much he’s sweating, and genuinely working himself up until Michael’s eyes rise to his, still smiling.

“So are you going to buy me that drink, or what?”

Gerry grins back, and pointedly _doesn’t_ breathe a sigh of relief. “Sure, what are you drinking?”

“Mm, something fruity,” Michael says, and giggles.

“Alright,” Gerry says, ordering for the both of them.

“So… You were going to explain what happened last night?” Michael asks, swirling his drink, a toxic pink color.

“Uh-uh,” Gerry says, “Not until I’m more drunk.”

“ _More_ drunk? You mean you started without me?” Michael giggles again, and Gerry has a hard time not melting into a puddle on the floor.

Gerry laughs and shakes his head. “How about a less serious topic of conversation.”

“Like what?”

“Like… why are you an EMT?” Gerry feels the eyes littering his joints open wider, and regrets ever speaking to anyone ever, when Michael begins to Tell him.

“Ever since I was little, I’ve known that I’m useless for anything except helping people, and I don’t think I could live if I was useless,” Michael says, eyes distant and sad, sipping his drink. He blinks, “I don’t know why I said that, sorry, that got deep.”

Michael giggles, but it isn’t as joyful as before, and Gerry promises himself to kick his own ass later. He tries his best to explain, “Sorry, uh, I’ve been told that I can have that effect on people.”

Michael tilts his head to the side, considering, “Okay, let’s make it even, then. I’ll ask you something and you have to answer me honestly.”

Gerry squints at him, not a little apprehensive, “Alright.”

Michael hums, and finishes the last of his drink. “Why… did you ask me out?”

“Because you’re hot and I want to sleep with you,” Gerry says, grimacing, but forcing the truth out.

Michael laughs loudly, throwing his head back. Gerry blushes furiously, and he knows the low light isn’t enough to hide it this time.

“Okay, now you have to tell me what happened last night.”

Gerry nods, face still flaming as he orders another round. “Okay, so. Last night, I was trying to destroy an evil book, but it attacked me.” 

Michael laughs again, face screwed up in delight at what he thinks is such an obvious fabrication. “Okay,” he says, dragging the word out, “So tell me a story, Gerry.”

Gerry sighs, knowing nothing he can say will make Michael believe him, but also knowing maybe he can entertain him enough that he’ll want to stick around. “Okay, so I heard some intel that Mikaele Silesa, he deals in dangerous antiques and stuff…”

“Like old guns?”

“Mm… Sure. So I heard that he was handing over a book to this guy called Slavko Lark in that brewery that you found me at. I went there, just to watch, because I couldn’t just pop in and grab the book while they were both there; that’s suicidal. So I spent at least 20 minutes hiding behind a barrel while they talked in Russian. Finally, Silesa left, so I thought I would just get the book from Lark while he wasn’t expecting me,” Gerry tells the story slowly, enjoying Michael hanging on every word, even if he might think it’s just that; a story.

“But when I stood up to sneak up on him, I hit my knee on this stupid pipe thing sticking out of the barrel and well, you know how much stubbing your toe hurts? Think that, times, like, a thousand.”

Michael winces and nods, “What happened next?”

“I yelled, because it really bloody hurt, and Lark took off running. That guy is _not_ the smartest; he ran up onto the walkway, instead of out the door Silesa went through, and I followed him. I chased him down, and I was just about to tackle him when he turned around and grabbed me. Threw me over the railing.”

Michael gasps at this, leaning forward on the bar.

“And I landed in one of those big fermenting tubs. It was full of liquid, and it tasted like beer. So I’m pretty sure I was drowning in beer for a second-,”

“Oh, that’s why there was beer in your lungs!”

Gerry chuckles, “Yeah! So I got myself out of there, and I saw Lark just as he was getting off the stairs of the walkway, and I managed to catch up to him, and get him to the floor. Then I got the book off him. I must have grabbed the book wrong, though, because it flew open when I touched it, and this stuff shot out of it. I think- I think it was spider web, which would make sense, because it’s a web Leitner, but-.”

“What is a web Leitner?” Michael asks.

“Ah, that’s a bit complicated.”

“I’ve got time,” Michael says, smiling.

Gerry shakes his head. That’s a little too much for one night. “Let me finish my story first.”

Michael giggles, “Okay, okay, go ahead, so the book was attacking you...”

“Right, so it shot web at me, and I think it got into my ears and fucked up my brain because the next thing I properly remember was waking up in the hospital with a bandaged hand, no Lark, and no book.”

Michael nods slowly, then says, “So a spider book squirted web into your ears and gave you alcohol poisoning. Gerry, you’re a great story-teller.”

Gerry smiles, unsurprised at his reaction, “You don’t believe me?”

Michael laughs, loud and bright, “No, Gerry, I think it’s bullshit.”

Gerry nods, “That’s fair. But I’m telling the truth.”

“Gerry if I have a few more of these, I might start to believe you.”

Michael puts his hand on Gerry’s where it rests on the bar, just as Gerry is thinking _God I wish he could believe me._ The eye tattoos on his hand glow under Michael’s, and his face goes blank with shock. _OH, fuck._

Michael snatches his hand away from Gerry, stumbling off the bar stool. He looks at Gerry with confusion and hurt, and Gerry wants nothing more than to take back his thoughts. Take back promising his story, take back compelling Michael. He can’t bring himself to take back calling him, though.

Michael screws his eyes up and shakes his head, “Gerry, Gerry, I- I can’t deal with this, I need- I’m sorry, I have to leave.”

“Michael, I’m so s-,”

“Gerry,” Michael says, and grips his shoulder, looking at him in a way that makes a pit open in Gerry’s stomach, “I’ve spent too long trying to get away from things like this.”

Michael is gone before Gerry can process the words. He buries his face in his hands; he will _not_ cry in public. He looks up when he hears the sound of a glass sliding toward him. The bartender quirks a sympathetic eyebrow at him and moves on, leaving a pint of beer in front of him.

He’s alone at a bar; he might as well make use of it. He drinks.

*

Gerry doesn’t see Michael for nearly five weeks, after that. He can’t lie; he kicks himself everyday for messing up something so great. But more than that, the last words Michael had said to him keep rattling around in his mind. ‘Trying to get away from things like this.’ Was Michael marked? Had he seen something? Had he given a statement? Maybe all that disbelief he had displayed was a front. Maybe Michael didn’t want to believe; couldn’t, or else he’d have to come to terms with whatever he’d lived through.

He wishes none of it had happened. He wishes he’d never met Michael, because now that he knows someone so perfect exists, he can’t stop thinking about him. Can’t stop thinking about what a terrible night he’d given him. 

He’s tried to text Michael. He didn’t want to harass the poor guy, so he had limited himself to one message. He decided on ‘Michael, I’m so sorry about the other night. Can I see you again?’ Gerry thinks it’s an adequate summary of his feelings. The message reads sent, and he can’t help but think that Michael probably blocked his number.

Gerry is selfish; he can’t help it, but he wants to see Michael again. And if he throws himself into more and more dangerous situations, in the off chance that an ambulance might be called, and that Michael might be in it, well, that’s his business.

Almost five weeks to the day, Gerry sees Michael again. Gerry had been stabbed in the arm, a long gash running from the outside of his elbow to the inside of his wrist. Surprise: it was Leitner related. It was just a bar fight, or so Gerry had thought, then he’d seen the small novel tucked into the waistband of the instigator. Gerry almost didn’t want to get involved, because he was at least 4 whiskeys deep and unsteady on his feet, but some beefy six-and-a-half-foot tall behemoth had grabbed this scrawny kid around the neck, and Gerry had to step in.

Now he’s sitting in the back of an ambulance with a bleeding arm, a broken nose, and a Leitner in his bag just itching to be burnt. And Michael is here. What’s crazy is: he hadn’t even gone looking for this fight. 

A short woman with dark hair had caught him before he could run away from the scene and forced him to sit down while she tended to his injuries. There was another ambulance there, and a few EMTs milling about. Gerry doesn’t want to admit that he was keeping an eye out for a tall blond. To his surprise, he’d appeared. They lock eyes, and a small thrill goes through Gerry as Michael puts a hand on the woman’s arm and quietly says, “I’ll take this one.”

The woman raises an eyebrow but leaves without protest. Michael takes his arm gently and surveys the damage. He begins to clean the wound and doesn’t say a word.

“Michael,” Gerry says, unsure of how to proceed. He’d spent so long thinking about seeing Michael again, and apparently none of that time went toward thinking about what he’d actually say if that happened.

“Gerry,” Michael says back.

“I’m really sorry about what happened, Michael,” Gerry says, knowing if he starts in on the excuses it will just make it worse.

“You mean what you _made_ me know?” Michael says quietly, hands warm and sure where they stitch Gerry’s arm.

Gerry nods, and doesn’t say anything more, afraid Michael will just walk away.

A few moments pass in silence, Michael’s brow knitting further and further together, before he sighs, shoulders drooping, and says, “So what happened this time, a book draw a knife on you?”

Gerry smiles, relieved, “That’s not far off, actually.”

Michael chuckles, and Gerry feels his heart swoop to hear that beautiful noise again. A moment passes in comfortable silence before Gerry ruins it with his stupid words, “So, could we put that night behind us? Start again?”

Michael frowns again, “Yeah, you’re right, I should just forget the trauma you dredged up inside me. Who am I to let that get in the way of a good fuck?”

Gerry’s face burns red, more and more of his words from that night coming back to bite him in the ass. “Michael… that’s not what…” He gives up and sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, cursing when he touches his nose. He’d forgotten it was broken.

“Careful, Gerry,” Michael says reflexively. He brings his gloved hand up to catch Gerry’s before it can touch his face again.

They lock eyes for a moment, and Gerry has a hard time not looking away. Gerry can see a lot in those eyes, including no small amount of fear. Gerry hates himself for putting it there. “Michael, would you let me explain properly?”

Michael doesn’t answer, instead tying off the last stitch in Gerry’s arm and moving to his face. He puts his hands on either side of his head. Gerry forces down the surprise when he realises it’s just so that Michael can set his nose. 

“Ready?” He asks, and Gerry braces until his nose clicks back into place, “Put some ice on that when you get home.”

Gerry sighs, “Okay.”

Michael peels his gloves off and begins to move away when Gerry catches his arm, careful not to be rough, “Wait- can you at least unblock me?”

The blond regards him slowly, almost sadly, then moves into Gerry’s space. He places a few fingers under Gerry’s jaw, and presses a light kiss to his cheek. 

“I never did,” He says, stepping back, and walking away.

*

It takes Gerry a little over three hours to work up the nerve to text Michael again. Every time he goes to tap in a message, he sees the last one he sent, and regret twists at his gut.

He finally writes, _Hey, thanks for patching me up today._

Gerry forces himself to put the phone down and watch telly, instead of watching it like a hawk for a reply. He leaves it in the kitchen but jumps up every time he hears a notification. He damn near smashes his phone against the tiled floor when the third _ding_ in a row is a message from fucking YouTube _again_ , suggesting another video for him to watch.

He trudges resignedly to his phone when it buzzes a 7th time, not holding onto any hope. He nearly has a heart attack when he sees it’s a message from Michael.

**Gerry, you need to be more careful**

Gerry fumbles the phone for a second before he finally presses the call button, way beyond the point of desperation. It picks up almost immediately.

“Gerry,” Michael greets.

“Are you free tonight?” Gerry asks instantly.

He hears a sigh from the other end. Gerry can’t decide if it’s resigned or fond, or perhaps both. “Meet me at 7, same place.”

“Thanks, Michael,” Gerry says sincerely, hoping he knows how much it means to him.

“I’ll see you soon, Gerry,” Michael says.

*

It takes a little longer to find Michael this time. He’s sitting at the bar again, but he’s slumped, and his hair is out of its usual bun. Gerry slips onto the stool beside him, and Michael straightens up. Gerry watches, enraptured, as Michael combs a hand through his long gold curls. He almost forgets to answer when Michael says hello.

“I’m not going to leave anything out when I explain things to you, Michael, but if you need me to stop, just tell me.”

Michael nods solemnly, and Gerry begins. By the time he’s finished explaining the basics, it’s almost 8:30, and by the time Michael has asked all the questions he can think of, it’s well past 10, and they are both quite drunk.

“I don’t even know why I need you to believe me so bad,” Gerry says, not quite drunk enough to be slurring the words.

“It’s because you don’t want to feel like you’re crazy,” Michael says, leaning against Gerry, “I should know.”

“What do you mean?” Gerry says, leaning against Michael in turn.

“I was always so scared I might be crazy,” he starts, laying his head on Gerry’s shoulder. Gerry focuses really hard on what he’s saying, trying not to think about how close Michael is. “I had a friend when I was little. He disappeared, and everyone tried to tell me he didn’t exist. I knew- _know_ \- what I saw though, that stupid door. I learned pretty quickly not to talk about it, though. And eventually, everyone forgot about it. I think I convinced myself that I’d forgot, too. Until you.”

“Michael, I’m sorry,” Gerry says.

“No, Gerry, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have run away last time, even if you did violate my brain privacy. I w-was just scared, scared you weren’t real, that you were just that part of my mind that I locked away, coming back to fuck with me again.” Michael is mumbling into Gerry’s shirt now, barely holding himself up.

“Here, I’ll order us something, so you know I’m real,” Gerry says, gesturing at the bartender.

“No, no, Gerry, I’ve had too many,” Michael says, trying to straighten up, and nearly falling off his stool.

“Yeah, I’m getting water, or juice maybe, if they have it, you like juice?”

“Fucking love juice,” Michael slurs, with a hiccup and a giggle. “And anyway, you getting me juice, it won’t change anything; this could just be an elaborate hallucination.” He stumbles incoherently over the last phrase.

“The whole world’s probably a simulation, Michael, who gives a fuck?” Gerry says, collecting the two glasses of orange juice.

“Gerry. I’m going to walk you home,” Michael declares after sculling half the glass.

“Michael, I don’t know if you can walk,” Gerry laughs, watching as Michael sways on his stool.

“Gerry, Gerry, I want to be a _gentleman_! I’m walking you home.”

“I live two train stops away.”

“Hm, okay, I’ll walk you to the station.”

“Okay, Michael, just finish your juice.”

They walk in relative silence, occasionally falling against each other and laughing hysterically when Gerry trips on the sidewalk and falls over. “Oh, Gerry, be careful, you got beat up today.”

“Yeah, it’s not like the giant bruise on my face is letting me forget that.”

By the time they get to the station, the cool night air has sobered them significantly, and they stand on the fairly empty platform, facing each other, unsure of how to say their goodbyes.

“Michael, I just- I’m so sorry I dragged you into my shit. It was so selfish of me,” Gerry says, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck.

Michael shakes his head, taking Gerry’s hands in his own, “It was going to catch up with me sooner or later.”

Gerry looks up when Michael touches him. His eyes are bright and intent in the fluorescent lights of the subway. Gerry is almost unaware of what’s happening as he gets closer, then Michael’s lips are on his. They are warm and soft and press delicately against him. Gerry takes a moment to come to terms with what’s happening, then kisses back insistently, hands coming up to touch Michael’s chest, drifting down to his waist, and resting on his hips.

Michael pulls Gerry closer by the front of his jacket and strokes his tongue across his lips. Gerry’s breath hitches, and he opens his mouth, a bolt of heat slithering down his spine as their tongues meet. He’s just about to drown in the wet warmth of it, when Michael pulls away.

“Fuck, Michael,” Gerry whispers against his lips.

Michael hums a laugh and kisses his cheek before stepping away, “Goodnight, Gerry.”

Gerry stands there, dazed, until he almost misses his train.

*

Michael stays in touch after that, and Gerry no longer feels the need to throw himself at dangerous situations just to see him again. They see each other a couple times a week. Sometimes Michael is working a lot, and sometimes Gerry is too caught up in finding a particular Leitner, so they can’t see each other for a whole week. When they do spend a night at the bar after some time apart, the night always ends with a semi-drunken passionate make-out session. And damn if Gerry doesn’t want to stay away longer just to see what will happen after maybe two weeks apart.

Gerry can’t deny it; he’s pining. He thinks he might be in love. At first, Michael was a pretty face to touch himself to in the shower, and yeah he still has a pretty face, and Gerry still indulges every now and then, but Michael is so bright, and clever, and perfect, he can’t help but feel like Michael just might be the one.

Of course, Gerry doesn’t believe in that sort of shit. There is no ‘the one’, there’s only people you like, and people you don’t like. Sometimes you might grow to love one of the ones you like, and that might fool you into thinking you were meant to be. But fuck if Michael doesn’t make Gerry want to believe in true love.

*

Gerry is fucked up. Again. He’s just stumbled out of an alley way, clutching the wound in his shoulder as it spills blood all over his shirt. It’s a warm night; Gerry is glad he didn’t wear his new jacket. He hadn’t even been on the hunt tonight; he was just trying to walk home after a couple of lonely drinks when he’d been mugged by this asshole who is now lying unconscious on the ground.

He isn’t that drunk. He kind of wishes he were, though, so that maybe the way his arm is throbbing will only be a dull memory by the time he wakes up, but it looks like luck isn’t on his side tonight. He digs for his phone in his jean pocket, fingers sliding wetly over the screen as he struggles to unlock it, hand slick with blood.

Finally he manages to open his phone, and fumbles for Michael’s contact. The call connects after only a couple of rings. “What do you want? I’m on break.”

Gerry sighs at the sound of his voice, all lilting and full of teasing fondness. “So you’re at work?”

“Yeah?” Slightly more concerned.

“Well, uh, I’ve kind of been, um, stabbed?” Gerry winces as he sandwiches the phone between his uninjured shoulder and his ear so he can put pressure back on the wound.

“Stabbed? Gerry, again? Why didn’t you call the actual ambulance service?” Michael is definitely worried now, and Gerry can hear rustling, like Michael is rushing to pack something away. He feels bad.

“I didn’t want just any ambulance, Michael,” Gerry says, sliding down the wall to sit on the cold concrete. He finishes quietly, “I wanted you.”

He hears Michael sigh, and a door slam, “Okay, Gerry, where are you?”

“On south Sterling, few doors down from the pub,” he says, and Michael has hung up almost before he gets the address out.

It’s only a minute or two before the ambulance is pulled up on the curb in front of him, and Michael is hauling him up gently and sitting him in the back of the ambulance. Michael has his brow furrowed, and his lips are pulled down in a frustrated line. 

“Gerry, you are so stupid, what happened?” Michael pulls his shirt gently away from his skin, before cutting it off his shoulder completely.

“That guy mugged me,” Gerry says, letting the feel of Michael’s hands, even gloved as they are, lull him into a sense of safety.

“Should’ve called the police,” Michael mutters, eyes focused on the stitching needle between his fingers.

“Looks like someone did,” Gerry says blearily as blue and red illuminate the inside of the truck. “Should probably take a look at that guy, too, pretty sure he swallowed a tooth.”

Michael rewards him with a small smile. Gerry winces back as Michael starts in on his shoulder. A woman appears at the mouth of the ambulance. She’s wearing a uniform and a stern look in Gerry’s direction.

“You know anything about this, Keay?” She says, crossing her arms.

Gerry begins to shake his head when Michael speaks up, “He’s rather out of it, actually, officer. Not making much sense, but I think I heard him say something about another guy taking off down the street.”

The woman purses her lips, before nodding and moving out of sight.

Gerry raises his eyebrows at the EMT. “Lying to the police? Michael, could you get any sexier?”

Michael giggles, face pink. He finishes patching the stab wound with a layer of gauze, smoothing his hands over the edges of the bandage before going to lean back. Gerry catches his hand with his good arm, before he can move too far. Michael stops, cheeks burning a shade brighter.

“Why haven’t we fucked yet?” Gerry says, then startles at his own boldness. Maybe he’s a little drunker than he’d thought.

Michael’s mouth falls open, and his eyes flicker down to Gerry’s own. He releases a shuddering breath before diving forward and smashing their lips together. The kiss is filled with a passion that Gerry scarcely new Michael was capable of. Gerry whines into it; an embarrassing noise that Michael seems to swallow eagerly. He moves his hands up to Gerry’s face, thumbs brushing over his jaw and tilting his head to delve deeper into Gerry’s mouth with his tongue.

Gerry is just about to move his good hand up into Michael’s coveted golden curls when Michael pulls away. Michael’s lips are wet and kissed-pink when he says, “Text me your address, I’m free tomorrow.”

Gerry nods dumbly, “Guess I won’t be sleeping tonight,” he says.

Michael chuckles and strokes his face once more before sending him on his way.

*

It’s almost agony waiting for Michael to knock on his door the next day. His shoulder isn’t helping either; every time he thinks maybe wanking off before Michael shows up is the best course of action, his arm twinges, painfully disagreeing with him.

Michael finally shows up at around 4 in the afternoon, wearing a sweater and jeans. His hair is up, and Gerry finds his fingers itching to pull the hair tie out of it. 

When he opens the door, Gerry barely has time to breathe out a ‘hi’ before Michael is tugging him up by the face and pressing their lips together. Gerry grunts in surprise and makes quick work of getting Michael’s hair free, running his fingers through it and delighting in the way Michael hums into his mouth at the feel of Gerry’s nails against his scalp.

Michael, now red-faced and sweater-less, standing in only a thin singlet, pulls away from Gerry, “I’m assuming you have a strap?” he whispers against Gerry’s lips.

“Fuck yes,” Gerry all but moans as Michael pushes back against him and shoves his hands under Gerry’s shirt. 

The way to the bedroom is messy and littered with clothes and painful bumps into walls and furniture. Finally, _finally_ , Gerry is lying flat on his bed, with Michael on top of him, grinding slowly down where he’s straddled across Gerry’s waist. Gerry feels like he’s about to explode. If Michael doesn’t start doing something else soon, Gerry _will_ die.

The blond finishes mouthing a hot wet line down Gerry’s throat and sits up. “You ready?” he asks.

Gerry nods eagerly, breathless. Michael fishes his jeans off the ground and pulls a condom and bottle of lube out of them. He shimmies out of his underwear and sits across Gerry’s thighs, cock hard and bobbing against his stomach. Gerry watches, mouth dry as Michael rolls the condom on and slicks himself up with lube, thrusting himself down onto his fingers.

Gerry feels a hot rush of arousal flow through him and the words burst out of him, unbidden, “Michael, you’re so hot, what the fuck.”

Michael giggles that intoxicating laugh of his, leaning forward to press a slow, hot kiss to Gerry’s lips, before easing down onto the dildo, rolling his hips forward, thighs bracketing Gerry’s waist. 

Gerry is so wet, clit twitching with need as he watches Michael fuck himself on his strap. Michael moans, long and loud, and Gerry would feel bad about not remembering that his neighbours have kids, if he had the wherewithal to even remember his own name. Gerry hitches his hips up into Michael, and Michael’s breath catches on a yelp.

“Sorry, was that…?”

“No, Gerry, that’s good, fuck…” Michael says, grinning at him playfully before leaning down to kiss delicately along Gerry’s top surgery scars.

Gerry chokes back a groan when Michael swirls his tongue around Gerry’s nipple. His teeth scrape softly over the taut skin, and Gerry feels desperate with need. “Michael, fuck, plea-.”

Michael hums as Gerrys’ fingers dig into the flesh of his ass, still working himself down onto him. Gerry runs his good hand up Michael’s belly, letting his nails drag across the skin, and feeling it quiver under his touch. Michael hums again, breathier, more desperate. His hips push down faster, more insistent, and Gerry knows he must be close. Gerry moves his hand up to Michael’s face, letting his thumb rest against his lower lip until Michael takes it into his mouth, and bites on it gently, looking at Gerry with dark eyes.

Gerry begins to jerk his hips up into Michael in earnest, watching, enraptured as Michael’s curls bounce against his shoulders with his quickening movements. He brings his hand down and wraps it slowly around Michael’s cock. It’s hot and wet in his hand, and Gerry lets his hand glide up and down it, increasing the pressure to wring more of those wanton little gasps from Michael.

“Oh, fuck, Gerry, I’m- fuck, I’m gonna-,” Michael plants his hands firmly down on Gerry’s chest, nails scratching lightly over his sensitive nipples as his thrusts become erratic, losing their rhythm. Michael babbles insistently as he comes apart, voice getting higher, losing control.

“Fuck! Gerry…!” he says, cock twitching in Gerry’s hand as he comes. His hips thrust spasmodically; head thrown back, hair tickling the tops of Gerry’s thighs.

Michael slows to a stop and looks at Gerry, eyes glassy with bliss. He leans down once more, and shares a sloppy kiss with Gerry, tongue lazy and wet. “Now you.”

Gerry moans at the thought of being touched, and before he can stop them, the words are out, “Michael, please touch me, fuck.”

Michael chuckles, and breathes hotly into his ear. “I’ll do you one better.” He licks a hot stripe down Gerry’s chest, dipping into his belly button, before arriving at his crotch. He pauses, “Assuming you want me to…?”

“Yes, Michael, please, I’m so wet for you,” Gerry would be embarrassed by what he’s saying if he didn’t need just _anything_ to rub against his clit, _right now_. 

Michael grins and ducks his head between his thighs, licking slowly over him, swirling over his clit before retreating. Gerry moans loudly, not bothering to hide his need as he grips Michael’s hair and pushes upward, chasing that heat. Michael takes his time to arrange Gerry’s thighs on his shoulders, all the while breathing hotly onto Gerry. He just knows Michael’s doing this on purpose, and he lets out a low growl.

“Michael,” he gasps, “not to pressure you into doing something if you don’t want to, but if you don’t do something right now, I will actually die.”

Michael laughs, “So dramatic.” He wastes no more time, however, before dipping his tongue into Gerry’s entrance, then spiralling upwards to suck Gerry’s clit into his mouth. Gerry doesn’t know if he screamed at the feel of Michael’s tongue pressing and twirling and twitching against him, but he wouldn’t be surprised, because by the time he feels that delicious tingling heat climbing up inside him, he doesn’t know anything. 

Gerry must do or say something, because Michael laughs into him, the sound vibrating inside him, and Gerry comes longer and harder than ever before. Michael continues to lap slowly, rhythmically against him as his hole twitches feverishly, until Gerry whines and pulls him up and away, toward his mouth.

Gerry kisses Michael, long and slow, licking deliberately into his mouth, and tasting sex on his tongue. “You taste like pussy,” he says, wrinkling his nose, before going right back in.

Michael laughs against his mouth and pulls away after a long moment. “We need to shower; I’m sticky as fuck.”

He hums in agreement but makes no move to get up. Michael sighs fondly and wraps his arms around Gerry’s waist, pulling him up off the bed and into his arms. Gerry grunts and winds his limbs around Michael, letting him walk them both to the bathroom, where he sets Gerry down and turns the shower on.

Gerry sags against him under the hot water. “Why the fuck did we wait so long to do that?”

Michael chuckles and runs his fingers through Gerry’s hair, massaging a floral shampoo into it. “I don’t know, Gerry, maybe it has something to do with how you reminded me of a traumatic childhood event and dragged me unwillingly into a world of fear and monsters.”

Gerry whines sadly, “Michael, I’m so sorry about that, you kno-,” Gerry pulls back, starting to explain before stuttering to a stop at the sight of Michael grinning cheekily at him.

“Gerry, I’m kidding. Sorry, I should stop bringing it up,” he kisses Gerry on the forehead and strokes his fingers down his back. The tenderness in his hands makes something hard and dark inside Gerry loosen up a little. “Also, do you have anything I can wear?”

Gerry chuckles and steps out of the shower, enjoying the ache in his hips and satisfaction in his bones as he wraps a towel around himself and hunts through his drawers for his largest items of clothing. He finds an over-sized band tee and sweatpants that don’t have a hope of reaching Michael’s ankles. Michael takes them, pulling them on and tying his damp hair up into a loose bun. 

It’s almost dark outside by the time they arrange themselves in bed. The pink light of the sinking sun drizzles in between the blinds as Michael nuzzles his face into Gerry’s uninjured shoulder and wraps an arm loosely around his waist.

“Michael, I really am sorry about dragging you into all my weird shit,” Gerry says, drawing idle circles into the skin of his back.

“I’m not,” Michael says on a yawn.

It’s silent for a while before Gerry speaks again, unsure if Michael is even still awake. “Michael?”

Michael hums sleepily.

“I… I love you,” Gerry says, hoping against hope that he didn’t just ruin the best evening of his life.

Michael lifts his head and looks into Gerry’s eyes for a disconcertingly long time. Finally he presses their foreheads together and sighs happily, “Well, thank God. Because if I went and feel in love with a weird, evil-book-hunting goth, and he didn’t even love me back, well, that’d just be sad.”

Gerry laughs, “Couldn’t you just say you love me, too, you asshole?”

Michael hums a laugh in return and kisses Gerry on the temple, wiggling up so that he can rest his chin on Gerry’s shoulder. “I love you, Gerard Keay.”

Gerry feels the beginnings of tears working their way to the backs of his eyes but pushes them down before they can go anywhere else. Instead, he just sighs, and rests his head against Michael’s, until they’re both asleep.

*

“Michael!” Gerry calls as he stumbles into their apartment. He must be home by now; he said he’d only be working until 9, and all the lights are on. Gerry had gotten into a little trouble with a vast Leitner, and had come to an hour ago, scratched up from an indeterminate amount of time thrashing against rough concrete. He had even worn a few holes in the thin T-shirt he was wearing.

“Gerry!” Michael yells back, sounding like he’s in the living room.

“Michael,” Gerry whines when he finds him with his feet pulled up on the couch, still wearing his green uniform, engrossed in an episode of some old sitcom. “I need your help.”

“I’m off duty,” he says, not taking his eyes away from the screen.

Gerry huffs and turns around, displaying his scraped up back.

“Jesus!” Michael says from behind him, before Gerry hears him pause what he’s watching and get off the couch. “How’d you do this?”

“A Vast Leitner had me flailing around on concrete for a while,” he explains.

Michael sighs, “Go take a shower, Gerry, then I’ll do what I can.”

Gerry spins around, taking a hold on the front of Michael’s sweater. “Join me?” he asks with a wink.

Michael smiles, and tucks a strand of hair behind Gerry’s ear before smacking him lightly in the face. “Nope.”

Gerry pouts, squeezes Michael into a tight hug, then goes to shower. The hot water stings the scrapes on his back and arms, but it soothes his aching muscles. When he gets out, he’s both tired and sore, and Michael is waiting for him on the couch, now wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. Gerry sits in silence as Michael works on his back, enjoying the warmth of his hands on his skin.

Michael finishes with a short kiss to the base of his neck and wraps his arms around Gerry’s chest. “Michael, can you carry me to bed?”

Michael sighs and kisses him again, before scooping him up on the way to the bedroom. He lays himself back on the sheets, and Gerry sprawls on top of him, not wanting to lie on his back.

Gerry fits himself into Michael’s side, and wraps a lock of Michael’s hair around his finger, letting himself indulge in the warmth of his body. The blond man runs a finger down the side of Gerry’s face, and loops it around his ear, tucking his dark hair away. He’s looking at him with such fondness and… love, that Gerry can’t help but laugh with joy.

“What?” he asks, face red from the attention.

“Oh, nothing,” Michael says, blushing himself, “It’s just, I always wanted a goth bf.”

Gerry smiles back at him and buries his hot face in Michael’s throat. He lets himself fall asleep like that, enjoying the gentle rise and fall of Michael’s chest, and the weight of his arms around his waist.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! leave a comment and kudos if you fancy ;0  
> or come talk to me on tumblr @theroswellcrashsite


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